Hues of Autumn: Faust Ballet Suite
by EffulgentMiri
Summary: The changing season inspires in Katie Bell a tendency to overindulge in fantasy about the irreplacable Oliver Wood, sparking off a series of events which could lead to a happilyeverafter for two. That is, if one of them would take the plunge...


**Hues of Autumn: Faust Ballet Suite**_  
Miri_

_No. 1 _  
**Daydreaming in Transfiguration**

Leaves swirled over the campus of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the wind dancing with them in the crisp autumn air. Shy, yellow leaves fluttered gracefully, tittering and whispering among themselves as they fell through the air. Flirtatious red ones twirled in the wind's arms like dancers at a club. And there were the orange ones, caught in between the two extremes, bright and vivacious in their spiraling descent. Gravity, the angry father of the scene, pulled them all home and tied them down.

Through the open window of the Transfiguration classroom came the brisk scent of early November, and with it slipped a single leaf onto the desk of a dark-haired girl with dreamy eyes and a preoccupied expression, who was so caught up in the mood of the day that Professor McGonagall's words about Advanced Transfiguring flew straight over her head.

On a normal day, Katie Bell would not have been caught dead daydreaming in class. After all, Transfiguration was her worst subject. On a normal day, her worried, anxious face was the most attentive in the room.

Today, though, her head was filled with thoughts of not Transfiguration, as it should be, but of a certain brown-eyed Keeper. In her imagination, _she _was the leaf, and he the wind.

She rested her chin in her palm, her fingers curled complacently around her face, and she wondered idly what color best suited her. She'd always seen herself as a moderate person, but today she was thinking that dressed in red, she could really make something out of herself. In her mind's eye was a daringly low-cut crimson dress, clinging to her body as she moved.

But what if Oliver found he couldn't respect someone with so little modesty? She might even find it hard to resent him for it. She reconsidered the yellow, imagining an elegant pale cocktail dress. She could almost feel the silk slipping smoothly over her thighs.

Busily daydreaming, she neglected to notice as Professor McGonagall, mindful of her inattentiveness, asked her a question—as all teachers are wont to do when they catch a student looking another way.

"Miss Bell?" McGonagall prompted, when Katie failed to reply. The girl still sat unmoved, gazing into the distance, a faint smile on her lips. McGonagall inspected her for a moment; then, to the astonishment of all, moved on without pursuing the matter.

"Miss Johnson, do _you _know the answer?"

Angelina gave a start. She'd been watching Katie with a mixture of shock, horror, and concern. She fumbled. "Sorry, Professor," she said meekly, by way of answer. She gave Katie one last wondering look and turned her face back to the lecture.

Oliver, it seemed to Katie, always smelled nice. Not that—contrary to personal wishes—she was often close enough to him to be privy to such intimacy. But it was one of his best qualities, she reflected.

She was not yet so afflicted that the more sensible side of her was not appalled that she was spending class in deep thought about her own Quidditch captain, a boy, moreover, after whom half the school lusted. It was this sensible side of her that asked her repeatedly, in admonition, how she—a lowly fifth-year Chaser—could even sustain _dreams_—much less hopes—of securing his affections.

She had pointedly been ignoring _this _side of her, and now she forced herself to hear it out. She was, after all, an essentially fair-minded individual.

As objectively as possible, she considered herself. Her hair she surrendered at once—she couldn't deceive herself that it was _good _hair. All she could say for it was that, for the most part, it stayed on her head and therefore served its primary purpose.

But hadn't Angelina always admired her eyes? They were plainly brown, like her hair, but—according to Angelina—they danced when she laughed. Even Alicia, the ever-sarcastic one, had agreed. Angelina had sworn up and down that she'd always longed for dancing eyes—and for dimples as well, which she claimed Katie had as well.

What else was there? Oh, nose too big, ears too round—she furrowed her brow and resettled her chin on her hand. So the practical side was right, as usual—Oliver Wood was out of her league by a mile. Where was the harm in dreaming?

Katie was still in her own little world of dancing and dresses and Oliver Wood when the bell rang. Even its normally harsh tone seemed gentle to her in her airy mood. Absentmindedly, she stacked her books in her bag, still staring distantly out the window at the tumbling leaves.

Browned knuckles rapping on her desk finally made her turn her head. Angelina's concerned face loomed down at her.

"Katie," she said, "snap out of it, won't you? You're creeping me out."

"What do you mean?" Katie said, laughing beside herself at her friend's expression.

"You weren't paying attention all of class," Angelina said, peering at her with consternation. "You _always _pay attention in class. It's me who doesn't pay attention in class."

"Oh," said Katie. "I don't know; I'm feeling kind of weird. I think it's something in the wind."

"That's right, blame the bloody weather," Angelina grumbled as they began their lonely sojourn towards the door.

"What else is it there for?"

When they were safely out of the classroom and McGonagall's hearing, Angelina continued. "Didn't you hear Professor McGonagall?"

"You mean the lecture? No, not a word. I don't know what's gotten into me. Can I borrow your notes?" Katie answered, a trifle distantly.

"I don't mean the lecture," the other girl returned. "I mean where McGonagall asked you a question. You acted like you didn't hear her. Are your ears feeling okay?"

Katie stopped dead in the hallway. "What?" she said, aghast. "McGonagall asked me a question? And I didn't answer?" She looked aghast. "What did she _do?"_

"We all thought she would explode at you," Angelina shrugged. "She always does. Remember what happened to Stanley Chevalier?"

Katie nodded solemnly. She remembered. Both of them paused for a moment, reflecting. Poor old Stanley. He really hadn't deserved that.

The stream of people flowed around them and jostled them as if they were two solitary rocks in a river. When an impatient sixth-year Hufflepuff prodded Angelina in the back, pitching her forward, the two Chasers made a mutual decision and continued on their way.

"So what _did _she do?" Katie wanted to know.

"She just sort of looked at you," Angelina answered, explaining as they walked. "After a minute she just moved on with the class."

They arrived at the Great Hall in musing silence and, spotting Fred and George already seated at the Gryffindor table, threaded their way through the thinning river and sat down.

_No. 2_  
**Lunch with the Weasleys**

"Hello, ladies," said Fred.

"Lovely ladies," said George.

"Lovely ladies who are in our dreams at night," said Fred.

"Sometimes in our dreams during the day as well," said George.

"Hi," said Katie dismissively, trading eyerolls with Angelina.

"You will _never _guess what happened in Transfiguration today," said Angelina to the twins. As they opened their mouths, she continued hastily, "No, wait, you're really not going to ever get it. It is, figuratively speaking, out of this world." She paused for dramatic suspense, then went on, "Katie _did not pay attention_ in class! Transfiguration!"

George gasped. Fred dropped his plate.

"How did this happen?" Fred asked, horrified, turning to Katie.

"I don't know," she answered, blushing. "I'm feeling bizarre. Is this really such a big deal?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I don't want to hear about it anymore," Katie said firmly, scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate, the clink of spoon on plate mimicking the finality in her tone.

"Okay, okay," said George.

"You don't have to get touchy about it," Fred added, picking up his plate and trying to repair the damaged boundaries between his carrots and his steak.

There were a few moments full of busy silence as the four dug into their lunch, and then George broke the silence. "Out of pure and simple curiosity—" he began, "—you didn't happen to eat anything that may have been left lying around the common room, did you?"

"In an orange wrapper?" Fred said.

"Which possibly _should _have had a label which read, 'Do Not, Under Any Circumstances, Eat This Candy'?"

"But where's the fun in _that, _eh?" Fred said, aside to Angelina.

Katie was looking bewildered. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she admitted. "What's this about? Are you two at it for your dream joke shop again?"

"Oh, good," said George, totally ignoring the question. "That's a relief."

"And a bit of a disappointment," said Fred, aside to Angelina. "Might have been amusing to watch. We haven't perfected it yet, as it is."

"What _is _this all about?" Angelina chipped in, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, nothing," said Fred. "Nothing."

"Just a little thing to pass the time."

"Not anything that concerns anyone else."

"Yet."

Katie and Angelina exchanged glances. "You're worrying us again," Angelina said. "You'd better tell us."

"Or be responsible for the loss of our beauty sleep," Katie said.

George gave them a patronizing smile. "But my dear ladies, _your _beauty is far too overwhelming to be affected by a little sleep deprivation."

"There is nothing in the world with that kind of power," Fred said, spooning the last of his lunch into his mouth, "as to cause destruction to your lovely visages."

_No. 3_  
**Canceling Practice**

"Oliver!"

Startled out of his reflections, he turned around to find Angelina sprinting toward him. When she reached him, she bent double, heaving for breath.

Oliver's eyes widened. Something _dreadful_ must have happened. Angelina only ran in emergencies.

"What's happened?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"It's Katie," answered the folded figure. She gave one last wheeze and straightened up. "She's in bad shape."

Oliver stared at her, horrified. He could feel his heart thumping away like a bass drum. Again exasperated, he mentally shook his head at his own folly. Look at him! The very mention of her name, and he risked a shattered chest.

"What's wrong with her?" he wanted to know, trying to keep the concern from his voice. He must have succeeded too well, because Angelina gave him a quizzical glance.

"You don't seem very moved," she said accusingly. "I'm telling you, this is serious. She _wasn't paying attention_ in class."

"Is that unusual?" he said, with a furrowed brow. Oliver was not as familiar with Katie's academic habits as Angelina was.

Angelina's jaw dropped. "It's _extremely _unusual!" she expounded. "It's unheard of! I'm expecting the Weasleys to stop playing pranks next!"

"That _is _serious," Oliver said. His mind was racing. He could feel his control over his screaming concern slipping away. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know," Angelina said. She shrugged. "She's just all… spacey. Anyway, I'm telling you because I think you should cancel Quidditch practice tonight."

"Cancel?" Oliver repeated, voice cracking in disbelief. "Why can't I just—" He stopped himself. No, that wouldn't work. Katie was the most stubborn girl in the world (except for, possibly, Percy Weasley), and the least willing to admit her own ailing. If he told her not to come to practice, she'd nod and smile and show up anyway.

"Otherwise she'll probably fly into a tree or something," Angelina prompted when he failed to continue.

"Yes," Oliver said on a sigh. "She _is _like that, isn't she?" The question was more directed at his own inner musings than at Angelina, and the girl's forehead wrinkled.

"So no practice?"

"No, no practice." His fingers jerked convulsively. Before she could hurry away, he added, "An extra hour Friday, then."

Angelina groaned. "I loathe you," she declared.

"How cruel," said Alicia, coming up behind them. "Tell me, what brought on this sudden bout of detestation? What have you done, Oliver?"

"Nothing," said Oliver shortly. "Katie's ill, so there's no practice."

Alicia regarded him with cool suspicion. "Really?" she said carelessly. "She seemed all right when I saw her this morning."

"She's not _all right,_" returned Angelina, sounding indignant. "She didn't pay attention in class! She's blaming the weather, but _I _think she's ill." Her tone suggested that Alicia's dissent was irrelevant when juxtaposed with her, Angelina's, first-hand opinion.

"Hmm," Alicia said cryptically. She turned to Oliver and slipped her arm through his. "I've got a problem with my broomstick. Will you take a look at it for me?"

Oliver glowered internally. "But of course," he said. He turned to Angelina. "Extra hour Friday, don't forget."

Angelina was too busy noticing how tightly Alicia was gripping his arm to answer, but Alicia didn't wait for her to reply. Almost before Oliver had finished speaking, she was towing him away, toward the Quidditch locker rooms.

**No. 4 **  
_Locker Room Lecture_

When they were inside the door, Oliver half-turned to face her and glared down the length of his nose with resigned determination. "What exactly is _wrong _with your _broomstick?"_ he snarled, somehow managing to suggest that she had either lost her mind or decided, over the course of a few weeks, to be a plague on his existence.

Alicia ignored him and settled down on the locker room bench with a lazy air. "So, dear Captain," she began, ignoring his question, "am I right to assume that you _still _haven't said anything to Katie?"

He paused. "Don't you have other things to do?" he asked. "Class, or studying, or something?"

"This is more important," she answered, shrugging nonchalantly. Through the half-opened windows, wind swept and raised goosebumps on her bare legs. She shivered. Oliver crossed the room in his long strides and let the windows slam shut one by one, but she suspected he did it out of fear of being overheard rather than out of concern for _her _warmth and well being.

"Well?" she prompted when he failed to answer.

"No," said Oliver shortly. "I haven't said anything. And I don't intend to."

Alicia inspected him critically for a moment. "Why not?"

"Is there really any point?" he said, his teeth bared in a grin whose effect was slightly insane in its search for logical thought. "This isn't serious. It's just a crush."

His youngest Chaser smiled patronizingly at him. "I see," she said. Again she paused a long moment, then continued. "But I think you're wrong. It's more than just a crush."

"That's just wishful thinking on your part," Oliver snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I don't understand you females! Why must you make everything so damned _complicated?_"

Determinedly, she ignored his outburst. "If it was just a crush, you wouldn't be so miserable. Crushes are fun. _You _have—" she stopped to let the silence underscore her words "—_feelings."_

Oliver stared at her for a full minute. Then, something in her coolly triumphant smile drove him to animation; he advanced on her until she had to tilt her head back to the threshold of pain to maintain his gaze.

"Stop," he hissed softly, "trying to make something out of nothing. I will not be a lab rat for your games."

She felt a shiver crawl up and down her spine as if pacing the length. Oliver had always seemed to be a pacifist, but in his incensed state he was truly frightening. There was something in his dark stare that contained power and menace. She made a mental note not to provoke him again—at least not in the near future, and certainly not when there weren't other people around to diffuse the situation.

They'd been engaged in a staring match since he had spoken, and her eyes began to burn from not blinking. Finally, she dropped her gaze, cursing internally. Oliver moved away, walking up and down the length of the room restlessly.

"You are so afraid of yourself," she muttered, still annoyed about the lost staring match.

"I am not," he snapped. "I'm just realistic." His tone softened as he turned to face her. "Face it, Alicia, nothing's going to happen."

"Maybe if you _said _something," said Alicia, glaring at him defiantly. "Of course _nothing's _going to happen if you _initiate _nothing."

He sat down beside her, suddenly exhausted. "Right," he said, tired sarcasm laced through his voice. "You've got to understand, Alicia. Katie and I are friends. There's never going to be anything more. I don't want to risk our friendship."

Alicia scoffed. "That's a coward's excuse," she stated in a clipped tone. "I hate it when people say that. People say that because they can't bring themselves to make the first step. You can't just hide behind your friendship.'

Oliver's jaw dropped as he stared incredulously at her. "You're impossible," he said. "Impossible!"

Alicia shrugged modestly. "Just logical," she said calmly.

Her smoothness seemed to infuriate him. Angry color rose in his cheeks and he stood up to glare down at her once more. When eloquent or otherwise rhetoric failed him, she continued, not unlike a cat playing with a mouse.

"She's going to find out eventually, you know," she said. "You might as well be a big boy about it and tell her yourself. You're killing yourself here. Wallowing in misery. Who knows? Maybe all of this wallowing is unnecessary. Maybe she feels the same way."

He stared at her, silently willing her to stop.

"You might be surprised," she added, mostly to provoke him. "_She _might surprise you. Pleasantly surprise you."

The glare intensified, and again she defied it, the careful, blank mask on her face unequal to the task of hiding the mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"You'll never know until you try," she prodded.

Oliver abandoned the glare with a sigh, unwilling to play games. Shaking his head disconsolately, resigned to the fact that she was willing to pester him to the grave, he opened the door and stepped back out onto the field, dry, dead leaves crunching under his feet as he left.

"You're killing yourself," Alicia called after him. At a more normal volume, she said, "Yeah, and you're killing me, too."

She sighed and turned herself to the task of rubbing the goosebumps out of her legs.

_No. 5 _  
**Gossip of the Year**

People who came into contact with her quite often didn't know what to make of Angelina. Even those who had been warned that she was (typically) overly energetic, (occasionally) rather too loud in volume, and (usually) too inquisitive for her own good were, on average, taken aback. She was a surprisingly surprising girl.

She was presently pelting like an oversized dark bullet through the corridors of Hogwarts with a determined air about her and little regard for those unlucky enough to be in her path. Even when she came to the staircase to the Gryffindor common room, her speed did not slacken. A lesser person would have slowed, but Angelina was an experienced gossip and would not be impeded upon. She hurtled on.

With her mind racing along faster than she herself, the time it took to reach the fifth year girls' dorm seemed to her to be at least a decade. In actuality, only a few minutes had passed since she'd received the shock of her teenaged life.

Heart beating twice as loud in the sudden cessation of her pounding feet, she twisted the knob and thrust open the door, darting into the room just before the door rebounded with a thud off of the wall and shut behind her.

Katie's startled face greeted her as she collapsed onto a bed, exhausted. One of their dorm mates, Paula Rhyler, peered curiously from one to the other from behind her square glasses.

Angelina's chest heaved as she struggled for oxygen. "Paula," she gasped out, and the girl gazed at her with a concerned brow, "would you… please excuse us?"

"Okay," said Paula reluctantly, rising from where she sat on Katie's bed. "We'll finish this later," she said to Katie, picking up her Charms book and crossing the room, opening and closing the door with considerably more care than had Angelina.

"Katie," Angelina blurted in the split second after the door had shut. "I have something _huge _to tell you."

Katie inspected her. "This isn't about Lisa Kendalwertz again, is it?" she asked.

"No, of course not," Angelina returned, appalled. "This is _way _huger than Lisa Kendalwertz. This is amazing. This, my dear Kate, is going to be the Gossip of the Year."

"Gossip of the year?" repeated Katie disbelievingly.

"Yes," Angelina's face was solemn. "With a capital G and a capital Y. Last year, Jennifer Hepfoot got it with Robert Anders and Samantha Gillard, but that title is _mine _this year."

"That's… good," Katie said, not sure what to say. Angelina, she had decided long ago, had some extremely odd aspirations.

"Yes, it is!" Angelina rose, queenlike, from Paula's bed where she had collapsed and crossed the room to sit beside Katie. "Now, Kate, I'm sure you realize that what I'm about to tell you is for your ears alone. You can't tell anyone. Definitely keep it away from Jennifer Hepfoot. If you go around telling people, you might end up getting all the credit."

"I understand perfectly," Katie said, curiosity getting the better of her despite herself. "Do tell."

"I don't even know where to begin," Angelina said after a pause. She fanned herself with Katie's half-finished Charms essay. "This is so huge!"

"You could start by telling me who's involved," suggested Katie helpfully.

"That's huge, too!" Angelina said, eyes wide with excitement. "It concerns our very own Oliver Wood. This is amazing! I've never had any dirt on _Oliver _before."

Katie's heart sank. "What about Oliver?"

"He's with—oh, you're going to be _so _blown away by this—he's with _Alicia Spinnet!"_

The other girl struggled to keep her face under control. "Really?" she said, trying to force the correct degree of surprise into her voice. "Oliver and Alicia? …That's awesome. They're so cute together."

Angelina wrinkled her nose. "You think so?" she asked. "Really? I suppose so… I must admit I never foresaw them as a couple. I'd never thought Alicia was his type, really."

Katie shrugged at her. "I guess they proved _you _wrong," she said lightly. She rose to her feet and dusted herself off. "I think I'll go for a walk."

"Okay. Don't tell anyone, remember," said Angelina. She pulled Katie's open textbook towards her and sighed. "I really should start on this. But if _I _don't tell everyone about Oliver and Alicia, _who _will?"

"'If not me, then who?'" quoted Katie absentmindedly, wishing she was outside already. She could always think clearer out of doors.

"What?" Angelina said. She continued without waiting for an answer, being used to Katie's tendency towards literature. "See you at dinner, if not before. Will you help me with History of Magic tonight?"

"Sure," Katie said, settling her cloak around her shoulders. "See you."

_No. 6 _  
**Chocolate Enterprise**

Oliver stared blankly at the artistically grained wood in front of him. The desk's legs constricted his movement; the chair felt hard and uncomfortable. He sighed and set his elbows on the desk, settled his head into his hands and tried to resign himself to the fact that it would be another hour before he could get up from the desk and away from the dusty smell of Binns and his classroom.

It didn't feel like an hour. It felt like seven years of his life had passed before him, as agonizingly slowly as might have an especially drowsy turtle.

For the past half-hour, his gaze had been fixed unwaveringly on the ancient clock over Binns' head. When the minute hand hesitated teeteringly on its way to full circle, when (oh! Joyous day) the bell would ring, he finally lowered his eyes. The dry voice, which had so far slipped easily under his concentration, caught, coughed, and continued.

The rest of the class had long ago fallen asleep, save only for an enthusiastic Ravenclaw, whose pen scratching made the only bid on the sovereignty of Binns' voice.

Oliver raised his eyes to the clock once again. Surely a minute had passed already, hadn't it? The thought must have given the long arm of the clock the nudge it needed, because the clock ticked and the bell rang, pulling the heads of his classmates up as if they were marionettes. Oliver was the first out the door, having got to his feet before Binns had even finished speaking.

"You know what you need in your life, Oliver?" Fred Weasley said, his mischievous face masked by false sobriety. "You need _excitement."_

"Yeah," said George. "You should be more like us. We _never _get stressed out."

The three of them were seated around a table in the common room, with the fire crackling gleefully in the grate. On the table in front of Oliver lay an oversized tome entitled _A Brief Overview of the Flighted Fire Age—Study of Dragons in the Fifteenth Century_, but he had long ago given up on trying to read it, and the twins never bothered to display pretensions of studying.

"Let me guess," Oliver said tiredly. "Adventure is your middle name, right?"

"No," George answered, surprised, in a tone which, unbeknownst to George, had last been employed in the service of Captain Jack Sparrow on a Muggle television screen. "_Adventure's _middle name is _Weasley._"

Fred and George chortled, too caught up in amusement to immediately note that Oliver offered only a weary eyeroll for their pains. "All right, that just about _does _it," said Fred, when he had noticed this conspicuous lack of reaction. He stood up and pulled George up along with him. The two gazed down at Oliver sternly. "We've been planning in case something like this happens. You wait here, Cap'n."

In a matter of seconds they were back, each sporting even wider grins than usual. "Here. Eat this," said Fred, unwrapping something from an orange wrapper and handing it to Oliver. He examined it. It was a piece of chocolate. He lifted his gaze to stare at the twins, wise enough to be suspicious of such an offering.

"Just a little something for the betterment of your general being," said George.

"No side effects except for relaxation," Fred added, spreading his hands in a gesture of honesty.

"I don't believe you," Oliver said.

The twins took their seats again. "Fine," said Fred.

"Don't eat it," said George. "See if we care."

"What's the world coming to? Can't even try to help out your fellow man without being accused of ulterior motives," said Fred. "Well, see if we try _that _again."

"That's right," agreed George. "From here on out everyone else is just _on his own, _he is. The world can just go to hell in a handbasket."

Their reproachful words were largely unnoticed by Oliver, who was still staring at the chocolate he held between thumb and forefinger. Impulsively, he took a bite, and then another. It was _good. _ Somewhere in the middle was a thin, crispy wafer. He finished the bar, and without a word Fred unwrapped more and handed it over.

Before long, he realized his brain wasn't working with the degree of clarity he was accustomed to, but by then it was too late. It was like drinking, only (he hoped) without the hangover.

"So, Oliver," said George gently, in much the same way a psychiatrist might speak to a medicated patient, "is there anything you'd like to share?"

His lowered inhibitions made him nod, zombie-like. He knew that he knew the reason why it was a bad idea to tell Fred and George anything, but trying to remember the reason was another matter altogether. The reason was _elusive. _

Finally, he decided, why _shouldn't _he tell them about Katie Bell? After all, these were his friends. Maybe they could help.

"And to make matters _worse—_er, er… Alicia won't stop _bothering _me. D'you… d'you see?" Oliver finished, after several minutes and considerably more chocolate.

"We do see," agreed Fred, and George nodded. They rose to their feet. "But if you'll excuse us, we have an appointment to keep."

George nodded. "It's an important appointment. It's essential to the state of this school that we keep it. We have a quota to fill, you know."

"Quota?" Oliver repeated with difficulty.

"Of pranks, you understand. Today we are meddling in romance. Playing the matchmaker. We feel strongly that the Slytherin common room needs to hook up with half a dozen _very _attractive Dungbombs."

"Make it a dozen Dungbombs," Fred corrected. He dropped the rest of the orange-wrapped package of chocolate in front of Oliver. "Have some more chocolate. It's warm and delicious."

"Just like Katie Bell," George said, clapping Oliver on the back.

"Katie 'Kit Kat' Bell," Fred elaborated, grinning with self-satisfaction despite his effort to maintain a straight face. The twins turned and climbed out of the portrait hole, endeavoring to appear as innocent and inconspicuous as possible.

Minutes after they left, Oliver could feel the effects of the chocolate draining away. When at last his full capacity for reason had been restored, he swore violently and thumped the table. This didn't assuage the anger of having confessed to the Weasley twins, and it left him with a sore hand on top of everything. Standing, he seized a cloak from the table, not caring whether or not it was his, and set out.

_No. 7_  
**Swirling Leaves**

Katie Bell was not an unhappy girl, but some days can bring the sunniest person down to the pits of despair. Alicia and Oliver? She still couldn't believe it; she didn't _want _to believe it. Merlin forbid she should meet Alicia in her solitary wanderings across the grounds. Alicia was one of her best friends in the world, but Oliver… well. And she would, of course, have to pretend to be happy for them.

Honestly, she couldn't see the pair. Alicia was far too… _practical _for Oliver, all mathematic equations and scientific matter-of-factness. He'd said himself he needed a girl with some imagination, hadn't he? Alicia was the last girl in the world to _imagine _things; imagination was for children and Alicia made it quite clear by her demeanor that _she _was far above _that _sort of thing.

Katie checked herself. What was she thinking? Alicia was her friend, and if she was happy with Oliver and he with her, then she, Katie, would damn well be happy for them or know the reason why.

But didn't she already know the reason why? It was a beautiful dilemma, perfectly simple and complex simultaneously. He was her senior by two years and her Quidditch Captain, not to mention one of the most sought-after boys in the school, and she herself would never have dreamed of making a move on him.

Alicia, it seemed, was more forward. _Alicia, _it seemed, had no qualms about throwing herself at Oliver Wood, when she ought to have known from the start that _Katie _was head over feet for him. Did she know nothing of what it meant to be a good friend?

Yes, of course she did. Katie was being unfair again. It was possible—even probable—that Alicia hadn't had the slightest inkling of Katie's feelings; Angelina obviously hadn't, so Katie must have hidden them well.

But Angelina was thick, frankly. Alicia had no excuse, with all of _her _practicality and matter-of-factness.

She stared fixedly at the ground over which she trod, almost as if she were trying to ignore the heated argument that raged inside her head. She had almost shut her eyes in despair when into her line of sight came a leaf, lying despondently on the ground at her feet.

She knelt where she stood and picked it up between a thumb and a forefinger, turning it over. It was brilliantly orange, tinged with yellow at the right and with red at the left. She smiled with childish delight, letting the leaf settle into the palm of her hand and inspecting it. One prong had been half-severed, and fluttered uselessly in the breeze. She pressed the tear together and stood, casting a glance around. She spotted the tree she'd been watching from the window of the Transfiguration classroom that morning and trotted over, her worries forgotten for the moment.

The pile of leaves around the tree had grown considerably in the hours since Transfiguration, and, bending over, she raked them all into a heap with her hands, on impulse. She remembered playing in the leaves her father raked when she'd been younger. Fondly, she gazed into the misty veils of memory.

Gradually she came back to reality, and her daily dose of teenage angst-ridden drama came rushing at her like a tidal wave. The smile fled from her lips and she straightened up, staring with a touch of sadness at the mountain of leaves she had created. No childhood memory could chase away her problems; only she could do that, and she would have to do it now, while resolve was still hard in her chest. She'd have to confront _someone _about this.

She turned to go and came face-to-face—or rather, face-to-chest with Oliver Wood himself. She stared at him like a startled deer.

"Aren't you going to jump in it?" he asked, indicating the leaf pile behind her.

She blushed. He probably thought she was immature. Probably he wanted someone like Alicia anyway. "I was just—" she began, not sure how she planned to finish.

"Someone has to," Oliver continued. "If you don't, I am. You can't just leave it like that, all organized and undisturbed. It should be against the law, making a leaf pile and then not jumping in it."

Katie wondered if he was making fun of her, but his dark eyes were sincere and open. "Where's Alicia?" she said, wanting to know.

Oliver narrowed his eyes at her. "Why should I know?" he asked, his voice peevish. "I don't want to talk about Alicia."

"Why not?" she asked, shocked. This was not the behavior of a happy new boyfriend. "Has there been trouble? Aren't you two an item?"

By the horrified expression he now sported, she guessed she'd been stewing over nothing.

"Alicia?" he said, startled. "And me? An _item?_ Oh, no. No. Of course not, no. Where did you hear that?"

"It's floating around the school," she returned, because she suspected that by now, it was. She loved Angelina, but she wouldn't have trusted Angelina's _mouth _for all the gold in Gringotts.

She moved one foot behind her to shift her balance, and in the process slipped on a stray leaf, and she tumbled down on top of the heap. Oliver's amused face peered down at her from an impossible height.

"Need some help?" he inquired, extending a hand down to her, apparently finding great pleasure in her misfortune. She took his hand and, smiling angelically, yanked as hard as she could and brought him tumbling down with her.

Spluttering, he struggled to find handholds in among the slippery leaves. She clapped her hands together in glee at having caused his chaos, until finally he managed to raise himself off of her and silenced her with a glare.

"That," he said, pausing to blow a leaf off his face, "was not funny."

"I thought it was funny," she said, still grinning like a madwoman.

"It is not your opinion—as the offender—that counts, madame," Oliver said, his hands braced on either side of her, arms locked to put distance between them. His eyes shot sparks at her as he was forced to blow another leaf off of his sleeve.

She reached up to rearrange the leaves under her head, trying to stop them from poking their stems irritably into her neck. "I don't find that very just," she said. "I may be forced to appeal the court's decision."

Suddenly, his expression changed; his brows drew together for an instant and he looked guilted and uncomfortable at the same time. "Listen, Katie," he said, avoiding her eyes as intently as he'd just been glaring into them, "I've been meaning to talk to you."

She grinned playfully up at him. "Oh, yes?" she asked. "Let me guess—extra practice?"

"No," he retorted. "Well, yes, actually, but that wasn't it."

"So talk."

"Lately I've been having these feelings," he said, on a sigh.

"And?" She pulled a leaf out of his hair, feeling a surge of foreboding. Out of danger with Alicia, only to hear him declare his love for some other girl?

"Weird feelings. Very weird feelings," Oliver said. He paused, then added, "For you."

Katie looked up, surprised. Warmth seeped through her, then dread; this had to be a joke. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that supposed to be funny?" she demanded. "Did Fred and George put you up to this?"

"No," he protested. His voice hardened. "No, that was not supposed to be funny."

Her face returned to its usual sunny expression. "Oh," she said. "Oh, good! …I have weird feelings for you, too." There was an amused quirk to her mouth as she said it, and her eyes danced.

His features relaxed and with a sigh of released tension, his elbows collapsed and he half-fell on top of her. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. Far away, in the castle, a bell rang, signaling the end of the last period of the day. Not without difficulty—his every attempt was thwarted by a slippery avalanche in the side of the mountain of leaves—Oliver struggled to his feet.

When at last he reached vertical, he extended a hand down to her again. At the devilish glint in her eyes, he said, all in one breath, "If you pull me down again you will be off the team before you can say 'Quaffle'—so help me."

Sulkily, she consented to being pulled upright. "Wasn't gonna," she muttered, staring with mutinous disappointment at the ground.

Broom-callused fingertips under her chin tilted her head up again, and in the next moment he was kissing her and making up for all the times she had needed someone to be everything for her, making up for all the burns that scorching loneliness had left inside her. The wind whipped her hair around both their faces, and when they parted she smiled at how cliched it all felt. She could, she reflected, have come straight from the set of some run-of-the-mill romance flick. Strange how she, who had spent her life fighting cliches now felt herself to be in their midst.

Strange how good she felt about it. She grinned and rested her forehead against his, uncontrollable glee saturating her being. After a moment, they turned and walked back to the castle in step, Oliver's arm draped comfortably around her shoulders.

From behind a copse of birches not far away, Alicia watched them go, her arms wrapped around a tree for support. Bittersweet envy and loneliness attacked her like some two-headed beast, and she didn't bother trying to fend it off. _She _knew the futility of battling emotion for the sake of friendship.

She sighed. Life, it seemed, was a matter of luck—trial and error, trial again. She was (she reasoned) bound to hit the jackpot one of these times. Cold hard logic, that was the ticket. Doubtlessly, things would turn out all right in the end.


End file.
